


it's more like a song on a policeman's radio

by estei



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estei/pseuds/estei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately post divorce, Spencer loses his way but Brendon brings him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's more like a song on a policeman's radio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eledhwenlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/gifts).



Brendon was sitting on the top step of the back patio and almost through a six pack of Corona so he didn’t flinch when the screen door clanged open behind him. Bogart had curled up at the foot of the lone arbutus tree when Brendon had ignored the damp red ball at his feet but now he jumped up, tags jingling, and danced around the familiar pair of blue Vans that were planted by Brendon’s left hip. Spencer didn’t bend down to ruffle the dog’s ears so Brendon craned around, an arm hooked over his eyes in the glare of the sun. 

Spencer was standing with the kind of straight posture that didn’t speak to anything good and his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses. Bogart yipped and jumped, unaccustomed to this negligence, but eventually he retreated back to the shade under the tree and Brendon knew he was imagining the betrayed expression on the dog’s face but he added it to his pile of things to feel shitty about anyway. 

“That didn’t take long,” Brendon said, even though he didn’t want to really ask. What was the point of saying it out loud? If there’d been any doubt at all the trip to South Africa had cleared up any remaining questions because what was the point when you can’t find enough common ground to share a smile while looking at a real life fucking giraffe? 

“You drank all the beer.” Spencer said. Brendon wished he would sit or take the sunglasses off or leave, but Spencer was right. The beer was gone and it was a problem and it was his fault. After having been given the responsibility of the doing the last rites or whatever he and Ryan had done he should have been entitled to a fucking beer. 

“There might be more in the kitchen, I’m pretty sure there’s at least that Bud left over from the barbecue last week. I could check?” Brendon could feel sweat beading along his nape and he didn’t want to move, wasn’t entirely sure he _can_ move, but he would if Spencer asked. 

“They have a band name, enough songs for an album almost.” Spencer sounded off, somewhere between baffled and resigned, but Brendon couldn’t imagine being surprised by anything anymore. 

“We knew they were writing. I guess they made their plans earlier than we thought.” Brendon shrugged. What could it possibly matter now, the when’s and why’s and how’s. “So what anyway, I’ve been writing stuff, too. I’ve been writing and I’m not stopping and it’s going to be something that isn’t a bunch of...” Brendon trailed off then, surprised at how angry he was suddenly, surprised at how drunk he was. 

“I know, B,” Spencer said. “It’s good. Really good.” 

“Fuck,” Brendon rubbed his knuckles across his forehead. There was a heat behind his eyes and it wasn’t fucking tears but it was something and maybe he’d just been out in the sun too long, maybe he needed to go to bed and turn off the lights and crank the AC. He said as much to Spencer, who cupped a damp palm around his elbow as he lurched to his feet. 

“Sarah’s coming up, she’s gonna stay for a while.” Brendon said as Spencer gathered up the empties, slotting them back into the box. He held the door open, whistled for Bogart and they both stood by as the dog careened past them and skidded across the linoleum. 

“That’s good,” Spencer said, a step behind him as they moved into the kitchen. “I think I’m gonna head back to Vegas for a few days. Let my parents know. You know how they are about Ryan.” 

“Jeez,” Brendon said. There was no way to sum up the kind of relationship Ryan Ross had with any of the Smiths, so he didn’t bother trying. Spencer set the beer on the counter and after an awkward moment took his sunglasses off. He looked tired and beaten down and Brendon wished he had something left inside him to give to Spencer, some way to make this okay for both of them. 

“Anyway, get some rest,” Spencer reached out and patted Brendon’s arm. “Give me a call or something in a few days.” 

“Yeah,” Brendon nodded. He wanted to hug Spencer, every inch of his skin was vibrating with the need to pull him close and hold on tight but he was ten seconds away from bursting into tears and he just needed to cuddle with his dog and hiccup and sob and snot his way through the second worst separation of his life. 

So Spencer left and Brendon did just that. He was still in bed when Sarah arrived the next day, and she crawled under the covers with him and told him stories about the kids and her application to the esthetician program and her mom’s fender bender with an 80 year old grandpa driving a Porsche and when she ran out of words they watched YouTube videos of a mini pig named Hamlet. 

The days passed in a blur of Netflix and takeout and cuddles and trips to the dog park and before Brendon knew it over a week had gone by since Spencer had stood in his kitchen. Sarah was in the shower, she’d finally put her foot down and insisted they actually leave the neighborhood and the car was packed for an overnight trip up the coast. Brendon was mentally preparing himself to coax Bogart into the carrier. The dog was small enough that Brendon could just put him in it but Bogie would start crying and he’d be agitated and Spencer had taught Brendon some useful tricks for getting him in there willingly, experience from dealing with his boxers who weren’t so easily manhandled, and Brendon felt a sudden ache of longing for his friend. He let Bogart have a small reprieve as he backtracked into the kitchen to grab his iPhone from the table and scrolled through to Spencer’s number and was caught off-guard when the voicemail clicked on automatically. 

“Uh, hey, Spence, I just wanted to check in and see what’s up. Sorry I didn’t call sooner I was, yeah, I’m sorry, man. Give me a call. I miss you, and we probably have to talk about, I don’t know, everything, I guess. Okay. Talk soon, bro.” Brendon exhaled noisily and thumbed off the phone. Spencer was probably exactly what he was doing, eating his mom’s cooking and teasing his sisters and letting his dad give him those godawful pep talks. Brendon would give him a little more space, try him again after he and Sarah were back if he hadn’t heard from Spence yet, but the thought that Spencer wouldn’t call didn’t really cross his mind. 

∞∞∞

Pete had a particular tone of voice that he only brought out when he was really worried but trying to hide it. No one really had the heart to tell him it didn’t work and more often than not it came in handy in terms of gauging a situation. Not that Brendon needed a decoder ring for this conversation. 

“No one expects you guys to make any decisions yet, the label just wants to meet and talk options right now. I’ve been holding them off to give you time to get your heads together but I’m all out of tricks, B.” Pete was doing his most earnest eyes and Brendon busied himself ripping the paper off his straw and stabbing it through the top of his smoothie cup. 

“He’s not taking my calls, either.” Brendon said finally. “I talked to Ginger and she said he’s taking some time, what that means.” 

“I talked to Ginger, too,” Pete admitted, scratching the back of his neck as he looked out the plate glass window into the street. “She said the same thing. And then she sent me some cookies.” 

“Yeah,” Brendon huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know. This isn’t like him.” His knee bounced underneath the table and the frozen juice felt like a lump in his stomach. Sarah had gone back to her job and Spencer was just fucking gone and Brendon was mad but mostly he was scared. He didn’t know Spencer head was at and Spencer, despite his reputation as the stable one, was known to do some fucked up shit when he was upset. 

“Have you heard from Ryan?” Pete asked, and it made Brendon’s heart clench at how casual he was trying to be. Poised in the metal chair, not quite meeting Brendon’s eyes and hands clenched in his lap. 

“No.” Brendon said. “I don’t expect to, honestly. I don’t know what he said to Spencer, or what Spencer said to him. I should have asked, but that day was so crazy. I didn’t think Spence would just... POOF, disappear.” _Not on me_ , he didn’t add, but it looked like Pete got it all the same. 

“Dude, it’s not your fault. But Ryan and Spence, that’s some heavy shit. I’m not saying you and Ryan weren’t close, that you aren’t hurting, too, but they were on another level, man. I get it, and I don’t want to push anything, but the label guys, fuck.” Pete put both hands in his hair and tugged. Brendon leaned back and surveyed the cracked Formica that seemed to be everywhere. God only knows how Pete had found this dump of a frozen yogurt joint, but they’d been sitting there for a half hour and not one other customer had come in. The heavyset woman behind the counter obviously didn’t know or care about them beyond the narrowed eyed looks she sent them every time they said ‘fuck’ too loud. 

“What do they want?” Brendon asked. 

“What’s the plan, I guess,” Pete said. “Like, are you guys gonna stick with your contract, are you gonna go solo-“

“Shut the fuck up,” Brendon snarled, and fuck that woman and her damn eyes and fuck the label and fuck Pete, who reeled back and held his palms out. 

“Whoa, chill, I’m not suggesting that, okay? Never. Fuck you for thinking that. He’s my Spence Wentz,” Pete was sounding pissed off himself and Brendon felt like he would scream or start throwing punches and his skin felt too tight. 

“Why would you even say that?” 

“I’m telling you what the label guys are saying. Trust me, they want you both, that’s just an option they threw out in case.” 

“I can’t do this without Spencer.” Brendon said, and didn’t consider what Peter meant by in case.

“Okay,” Pete said. “When Spence comes back we’ll figure this out.” 

But Spencer didn’t come back, and eventually Ginger stopped sending cookies and she sounded tired when Brendon called and Spencer’s mailbox was full and no one would tell him anything. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Ginger said, and Brendon could tell that she was crying and then he started crying too, huge sobs that he couldn’t stop and Ginger made soothing noises until he could breathe again. “He isn’t here, he really isn’t.” She said when he was quiet. 

“Where is he?” Brendon couldn’t understand any of this. How could Spencer not be there? 

“He said he had to go away for a little while, to get his head on straight, to figure things out. He wouldn’t tell me where, didn’t tell his father, either. He’s okay, he sends me texts and calls when he knows I’m out of the house, the brat, and leaves messages on the answering machine.” Ginger paused, and Brendon could almost see her, sitting at the kitchen table under the clock with the faux wrought iron leaves, shoulder slumped. “I’ve never seen him like this, Brendon, but I know he doesn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“I know,” Brendon said, and that was the worst part of all. 

∞∞∞

“Without Pete we’d be totally fucked,” Brendon said, gesturing a little too aggressively with his beer. Shane looked pained, but otherwise didn’t comment on the foamy spill on the hardwood floor. Bogart ambled over to investigate but once his nose got within two inches he sneezed and skittered away. “Does he get that? Does he _care_? Even with Pete running interference we could be dropped from the label at any moment. It has been two fucking months. Like, enough is enough.” 

“Bren, have you considered-“ 

“I mean, at what point can we call _Unsolved Mysteries_? Or, or, Dog. We could get Dog to come up from Hawaii. Spencer is a fugitive, technically, a fugitive from his own life. Who does that?” 

Shane didn’t answer for a moment, watching Brendon like _he_ was the crazy one, then he said, “That bag of Cheetos is ringing.” 

Brendon set his beer down on the coffee table and scowled at his friend as he swatted the back of cheesies aside. He didn’t bother to check the caller ID, probably unwise in his correct state, probably equally unwise was the surly way he answered. 

“Um, hey Brendon. It’s Jackie. Is this a bad time?” 

It was probably comical the way Brendon snapped to attention, the way his expression turned contrite and the attempt at sobriety that followed. A phone call from Spencer’s little sister was unexpected, and if she hadn’t sounded so tentative Brendon might have started imagining worst case scenarios. 

“Jackie, hey, no, no, of course not. I’m so sorry, I was just, uh, how are you?” 

“I’m okay, getting ready for college, you know, freshmen year.” She said, letting him off the hook instantly. Brendon smiled despite himself, sometimes, most of the time, he still thought of Spencer’s sisters as twelve year old girls with pigtails and coordinated, but not matching, outfits. 

“Wow,” he said. “That’s so exciting. Spencer told me,” he cleared his throat around the sudden lump, “He told me about your scholarship. That’s amazing.” 

“Thanks,” Jackie laughed a little. “Look, I’m going to get right to it. My parents seem to think that Spencer just needs time to figure his shit out but we both know that he’s just going to go crazy and become a freaking basket weaver or something.” 

“God, I know,” Brendon said, and the relief at finding an ally was incredible. 

“Right, so I’m going to tell you where he is and you can go bring him back. And if you need to rough him up a little for payback for being such a psycho then I won’t tell anyone.” Jackie sounded worried behind the humor and Brendon nodded even though she couldn’t see him. 

“I’ll bring him home,” Brendon promised. 

∞∞∞

Brendon was a known poor traveler. He got distracted easily, seemed to create chaos in the most innocuous situations and in addition to that he had a terrible sense of direction. Naturally Pete and Shane, the only people besides Jackie who knew about his mission, were pretty insistent that they should accompany him as the trip would require air travel, renting a vehicle and then driving said vehicle for approximately four hours. They felt that the potential for disaster lingered at every turn. Even though company would have been nice, Brendon knew it would be a terrible idea to land on Spencer’s seclusion en masse, and he was a little insulted by the implication that he was incapable of traveling domestically on his own. 

There was no stopping them from accompanying him to the airport. 

“Look, I know you’d be justified but don’t punch him in the face, not until you get him to agree to come back.” Shane said as Brendon punched his reservation number into the self check-in kiosk. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t punch him until you’re actually back in LA, so he can’t change his mind,” Pete suggested. 

“Jesus Christ,” Brendon snapped, “I’m not going to punch him at all.” Though privately he wasn’t entirely sure on that point, he wasn’t interested in having this conversation. 

“If he looks really sad you probably shouldn’t,” Pete agreed. “I mean, he’s probably going to look really sad. He’s hiding in Colorado. Only the seriously depressed go to Colorado, I’m pretty sure.” 

“He was born there, dickface,” Brendon said. He snapped up his boarding pass as it printed. He didn’t have any luggage to check so his next stop was the security line, a notorious experience that he wanted over with immediately. Also, he kind of needed to be away from the “helpful suggestions.” 

“I would never have guessed he was from mountain folk,” Pete said, and Brendon would be really pissed off right now except he knew how Pete got when he was upset and worried. 

“I’ll call you when I get there,” Brendon said. 

“You’d better,” Shane nodded. “Safe travels.” 

Of course, allowing Pete and Shane to accompany him brought other issues as well, as Brendon discovered when he was scrolling through his phone forty minutes later at his gate and a text from Zack popped up. 

_Internet says u are at LAX w Pete?_

Fucking Internet. Zack was peripherally aware of the situation with Spencer, but Brendon had kept the details vague enough that the other man wasn’t too worried. Brendon was hoping to keep it that way. 

_On a mission of love, baby!_

_Don’t take candy from strangers!_

Brendon sat back in the bench and wondered what it meant that Zack had just given the most sensible advice of the day. 

∞∞∞

To no surprise at all Brendon arrived at the Hertz counter to find that his car rental reservation had gotten fucked up and instead of the mid-sized he’d booked he would be stuck with a Yaris. Brendon wasn’t used to driving a fucking behemoth like Pete, and it wasn’t like he lacked for leg room, but being behind the wheel of something that felt like a breadbox on wheels while trying to navigate an unfamiliar Interstate did not leave him in the best of moods. He pulled into Sanderson at dusk and found that contrary to Pete’s opinion of Colorado it would seem that a fair few people wanted to spend time in a lakeside town with a population of approximately 5000 because the Super 8, Holiday Inn and Econo Lodge were all sold out. The gum snapping teenager at the Super 8 suggested the Deer Lodge on Fallview Road and Brendon proceeded to the one storey motel with green siding. 

Touring had taught Brendon that people who were accustomed to colder climates did things like wear shorts when it was only 58 degrees but he couldn’t help but boggle at the tourists in short sleeves while he turned the heater up in the Toyota. As he cruised down the paved roads with the cracked sidewalks and rundown storefronts Brendon was fucking baffled as to what Spencer was doing here. He was from Colorado, but not fucking Sanderson. 

The old lady at the Deer Lodge was so sweet that Brendon felt guilty for disparaging her town in his own mind, and he smiled politely when she handed him an actual key with a plastic red tag on the keychain. The number 7 was faded but still visible and Lottie told him that he could park his car right in front of the door. 

The room itself was nice, if dated, certainly better than Brendon had been expecting, and the mattress didn’t sag or creak when he collapsed down on it. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Brendon?” he wondered aloud. It was dawning on him that he didn’t have a plan and while Sanderson wasn’t that big he wasn’t sure he wanted to invest the time into staking out every coffee shop and shoe store until Spencer eventually showed up. He briefly considered just taking a picture of Spencer around to the most likely places but that felt stupid. It felt stupid and what would he say and what if he was recognized? Spencer would never come back if a story hit the Internet that he’d run away to the mountains to have a breakdown. That’s the sort of thing that would go beyond the fansites and straight onto MTV. That would be... bad. 

The idea he did come up with so stupid that even as he frisked Tom-Tom for directions to the local Wal-Mart he considered just going home because his strategies were not going to win any awards. He told himself it was idiotic and a waste of time as he wandered the over-lit aisles and filled his cart with the materials for a child’s craft. Thick markers, a large sketchpad and a roll of packing tape, the kind with the dispenser. When he dumped his purchases on the bedspread back at the Deer Lodge he stopped again. He couldn’t make a traditional missing poster with a photo, or even their real names. He cracked a can of Diet Coke while he pondered this new wrinkle. 

“Oh man,” he said to himself after a few long gulps. “If I thought this was stupid before...” he sighed and opened the sketchpad and started writing, flipping the pages over until his hands were cramped and he’d written on each sheet. He checked the clock on the bedside table, it was a little after 11 pm. A small town like this, he was way less likely to have to make awkward conversations with passersby but also more likely to attract the attention of the local cops. Another Diet Coke later and a snack sized bag of Doritos and Brendon had decided that he’d rather be arrested than talk to any townsfolk. He didn’t bother driving this time, it was only a half hour walk to the centre of town. He hunched down against the chill of the air, the sketchpad under one arm and the tape dispenser clutched in his hand. 

“This is soooo dumb,” he said to himself as he taped the first sign to a post outside the Crazy Bean cafe. He made sure to tape down all the sides with an extra strip across the middle. At the very least, this was probably going to be an interesting anecdote to tell in a few years. 

**BOBA!**  
I have come to look for you. Please call me!  
I am staying at the DEER LODGE.  
Bogart.

∞∞∞

Brendon woke with a start, arms caught up in the heavy bedspread and he thrashed a little and blinked as his surroundings swum into focus. He felt a moment of panic, of disorientation until he remembered where he was, and why. He freed himself from the confines of the sheets and stared hazily at the alarm clock. He’d been out late, postering the whole town it felt like, and he hadn’t expected to sleep, but he had, and until noon. Two seconds later he realized why he’d woken at all; someone was pounding on the door. His heart thumped as he crossed the shag carpeting. Either someone had reported his night-time activities or it was Spencer. Brendon didn’t know which would be worse. 

He forgot until he felt the chill of the air hit him that he was only wearing boxers and a t-shirt but it didn’t matter because it wasn’t the sheriff come to arrest him, it was his best fucking friend, looking thin and pale and nervous. 

“Are you wearing a fucking flannel jacket?” Brendon said. 

Spencer looked down at himself, as though he needed to check, and Brendon felt something tug and pull loose in his chest and he turned and walked into the bathroom and closed the door and cried. It was really annoying, how much crying he’d been doing because he never cried, not since high school, not since his first night in that shitty apartment and everything was so fucked up. He heard the door close, but he knew Spencer hadn’t left. He knew he wouldn’t leave, not anymore. 

Brendon sat on the toilet seat and just breathed for a long time before he splashed water on his face and went back out into the room. Spencer was sitting on the end of the unmade bed, tapping his feet against the carpet. He stood when Brendon came toward him and wrapped his arms around Brendon’s back when he fell against Spencer’s chest. 

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” Brendon said into the curve of his neck, but all he could think was how sorry he was that he hadn’t hugged Spencer that day on his back deck. 

“I know,” Spencer said, and hearing his voice was a shock. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.” 

“I just, I need to not let go for a minute,” Brendon said, and tightened his grip on Spencer’s waist. He was solid and real and in his dreams Brendon had started to imagine that Spencer was just a figment of his imagination. 

“Okay,” Spencer tipped his head against Brendon’s and held on. 

∞∞∞

Standing in the kitchen of Spencer’s seclusion cottage was weird. It was nice, in a rustic kind of way. It was too plain to be the kind of place Ryan would have liked, even with the view of the lake from the rolltop desk in the main room. While Spencer was making coffee with his French press Brendon wandered around the compact space. There were library books on the coffee table and old fashioned lanterns on the mantle. Brendon wondered if Spencer even knew how to light them. Eventually his attention was drawn by the ridiculous amount of papers and glossy pamphlets on the desk. Maybe Spencer was getting into kayaking? 

Except there weren’t any boats on the pamphlets, just smiling groups of young people sitting on grass or linking arms in front of stone buildings and it took about ten seconds to realize that he was looking at college application packages. 

It was approximately ten quick steps back into the kitchen where Spencer was pouring boiling water into the glass carafe and Brendon waited until he’d set the kettle down before thrusting a crumpled application in Spencer’s face. 

“What is this?” he demanded, as though he were a betrayed spouse holding aloft a strange pair of panties. “Are you quitting the band?” 

Spencer held his gaze, but Brendon could tell that he was working to control his temper. His jaw was clenched and he was deliberate as he depressed the filter on the press. 

“Is there a band to quit?” he asked. 

“Of course there is, fuck, yes! The band wasn’t just Jon and Ryan. Is that what you think?” Brendon demanded. Spencer turned and pulled two mismatched mugs down from a whitewashed cupboard. He was wearing his black Henley of emo and a battered pair of regular dude jeans and Brendon had no idea what was going on in his crazy head. 

“You could go solo,” Spencer said, not meeting Brendon’s eyes anymore, and Brendon felt the words like a punch to the gut. Spencer was so fucking competent and steady and so good at pretending that Brendon always forgot that he was the most fucked up of all of them. Brendon hurt, hurt for Spencer, but he got it now. He wasn’t in the dark anymore and he was sure he could fix this. 

“No, I couldn’t.” Brendon said. And it was true. Besides his loyalty to Spencer, what they did, touring and writing and press, he couldn’t do that alone. He honestly didn’t know how anyone could. 

“That day, you said you were writing, that you weren’t going to stop.” Spencer shrugged. 

“I did stop,” Brendon shook his head, and was gratified when Spencer snapped to attention. “I stopped because I was waiting for you, you dipshit.” 

“But-“

“Ugh, you helped me write those songs! I can’t believe you’ve been hiding out here like you’re Grizzly fucking Adams...” Brendon stopped, the issue was Spencer’s self esteem, and it wasn’t going to be productive if he tried to berate him into seeing reason. 

“Coffee’s ready,” Spencer said, and handed a steaming mug to Brendon. Brendon sat at the table without waiting for an invitation, and Spencer followed suit. 

“How long have you been here?” Brendon asked. 

“Almost a month. I rented it for a month, so I was going to head back to Vegas in a week or so.” Spencer said, he rubbed a hand over his bearded jaw. His cheekbones looked too sharp under the scruff, like he hadn’t been eating well. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. Or text or email. I know it was selfish. At first I felt like... if I didn’t call you I wouldn’t have to know, but then it’s like I got stuck in my own head.” 

“Look,” Brendon sighed. “If you really are done and you want to go to college-“

“I don’t,” Spencer said quickly. “I mean, yeah, someday, I just. When I was home Jackie and Crys were in college mode and I thought that might be something for me to do, if the band was over.” 

“Well, it isn’t over,” Brendon said. “The label is waiting for us to make some decisions but they think, and Pete thinks, that we can keep going as Panic, just with studio musicians for now and touring or whatever. They want us, you and me, to write a third album. I want that, too.” Brendon didn’t mention the cold sweats he got when he thought about writing lyrics, they could discuss that once Spencer was back on board. 

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “I want that.” 

“I mean, the last tour we were writing together and it was great, Spence. It was so great and we are going to be fucking amazing. I mean, we’ve both got the beauty and the talent.” Brendon waggled his eyebrows and Spencer snorted. 

“Jeez, and so humble, too.” 

“Fuck a bunch of that. We are. You are. I am.” Brendon said fiercely. 

“Okay,” Spencer nodded.

“Okay. Well, don’t take this the wrong way but when we get back to Cali I think you should see a therapist.” Brendon held up his hand when Spencer opened his mouth to speak and Spencer, shockingly, kept quiet. “It is actually insane to me that you don’t know how talented you are and the fact that you are hiding in Colorado and wearing flannel jackets is even crazier.” Brendon paused. “No, I’m sorry, this isn’t a joke. I mean it about you not recognizing how amazing you are. Your sense of self worth is way off, dude. You are my best fucking friend,” he paused again, this time because his throat felt so tight. “You are family to me and I want you to be, I need you to be happy because if you’re sad, I’m sad. And then Bogart is sad. And that’s just so much sad.” 

“I can’t believe you came all the way here and wallpapered the fucking town with posters about our dogs,” Spencer said, sounding pretty misty himself, and Brendon could hear _I can’t believe you came for me_ pretty damn clearly. 

“I was so worried that I was going to get arrested for vandalism or something and then have to explain to the cops that I’m trying to find my lost rockstar best friend through code names. That would have been so awkward.” Brendon said, and Spencer bleated out the best dorky laugh Brendon had ever heard. He leaned forward and put his hand on Spencer’s forearm. “We’re gonna be okay.” 

“Yeah,” Spencer said, and his smile was crinkling up around his blue eyes. “I believe you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this is not the story I've been working on for two weeks. I killed that story at 7 pm the night before this was due because I could not make it work so this was written in approximately six hours. I'm so sorry if it makes no sense. My beta did the speediest turnaround ever. And I don't know if there's a Sanderson, Colorado. I suspect not, but my internet was so uncooperative tonight that research was basically impossible. Sorry!


End file.
